


Sam/Bucky One-Word Prompt Drabbles

by allourheroes



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>embarrassing // foreskin // celibacy // encroach // picnic // pancakes // dragon // cache // elope // carnival // angel // masochism</p>
<p>More to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. embarrassing

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just wanted to do a little writing exercise by asking for one word prompts (pairing plus word) and I got about a million for Sam/Bucky. (They aren't exactly drabbles, _per se_.) This is my way of easily containing them. All originally posted to [my tumblr](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com)…where you can feel free to [send your own prompts](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/ask) for them or any other pairing. :)

"What’s that?" Bucky asks, dragging his fingers down Sam’s side and Sam is up like a shot, pulling the sheet around himself.

Bucky’s expression is a terrible combination of amused and curious and Sam just glares at him, feeling a decidedly different sort of heat than he was just a moment before.

"It’s nothin’," Sam says, swallowing and _knowing_ Bucky isn’t about to drop it.

"Oh…" Bucky looks down, a pout forming.

Sam hates him _so_ much, and so he says. “I hate you, you know that?”

"You _looove_ me,” Bucky teases, pushing Sam back down and straddling him quite effectively. He holds Sam’s wrists above his head, caught in his metal hand, and Sam doesn’t struggle. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Bucky hasn’t _already_ seen.

Bucky pries the sheet away from Sam’s body, biting his lip— And then he’s laughing. He’s laughing so hard he’s _snorting_ and Sam struggles his hands free, pushes at Bucky’s shoulder until he rolls off, the laughter still coming.

Sam starts to get up and Bucky grabs his arm. “Look— I’m sorry, alright?”

Reluctantly, Sam lets himself be pulled back.

Bucky points to the altered star on his shoulder, then to Sam’s tattoo, “We match, right?”

He places a kiss on Sam’s stupid Captain America tattoo. Sam huffs and Bucky continues trailing kisses downwards, still laughing.


	2. foreskin

When Bucky sinks to his knees and starts unfastening his jeans, he bites his hand. They’re on a mission, after all—but it’s a waiting game at this point.

Steve had sent them off as a team to investigate and Bucky had turned to him after about five minutes of wandering. “Fuck this,” he’d said, and Sam had laughed it off, taken a few steps, before Bucky’s words had stopped him in his tracks. “Or, you know, just _fuck_.”

"What are you—" He watched Bucky lick his lips, his eyes focused in on Sam, and, damn, if his pants hadn’t started to feel just a _bit_ too tight. “Fuck,” Sam had whispered and Bucky had grinned.

Then, Bucky had pried a locked door open and dragged Sam in with him and here they were.

Bucky mouths the length of Sam’s cock through the fabric of his boxers and Sam resists tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair, letting his head fall back against the wall as Bucky frees his cock and this—this he _has_ to watch.

Bucky licks a stripe up the underside of it, his metal hand on Sam’s hip as the flesh-and-bone settles around the base of it. He pulls back and eyes it hungrily and, okay, Sam feels like he might be dreaming. The circle of Bucky’s fingers gently pull back the foreskin to expose the thick head of his cock and Bucky wraps his lips around it, moaning as he does.

Sam cups Bucky’s cheek and Bucky’s eyes slide closed and he takes as much of Sam as he can into his mouth. It’s hot and wet and Bucky applies just the right amount of suction, his hand jerking Sam in time with it.

Sam usually prides himself on his ability to last, but Bucky looks up at him beneath his lashes, his hair falling wild around his face as his eyes meet Sam’s—he knows exactly what he’s doing—and Sam lets out a cross between a chuckle and a groan as he comes.

Bucky swallows and his smug grin is enough to have Sam dragging him up, kissing him hard as his own hand finds its way down Bucky’s pants.


	3. celibacy

Sam doesn’t have sex. It’s not that he _hasn’t_ had sex, but he’s making the choice not to. Generally, this doesn’t mean much for his friends—until his friends include one James “Bucky” Barnes.

"Whaddaya mean no sex?" Bucky looks absolutely appalled and it’s enough to make Sam laugh.

"No sex," Sam repeats, taking a swig of his beer.

Bucky is still staring at him, mouth hanging open. “But— but _why_?”

"Leave him alone, Buck," Steve says, he’s a bit distracted—the other Avengers are trying to guess the color of his underwear and he is resolutely not telling—and Sam waves him off.

Sam eyes Bucky sidelong. “Maybe I’m waiting ‘til marriage,” he teases, and, practically before he can blink, Bucky is down on one knee.

"Sam Wilson, will you marry me?" Bucky’s eyes are dancing with amusement and a hint of something else.

Someone wolf-whistles and Sam is pretty sure it’s Tony or Clint, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Bucky. “Shut up,” he tells him, nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his toe. Bucky doesn’t even wobble, however, so it lacks a certain amount of satisfaction.

"I bet we could find a minister tonight, tell ‘em it’s an Avengers-related emergency." Bucky is grinning. "Want me to call your mom, invite her up?"

Sam shakes his head and downs the remainder of his beer. He places a chaste kiss on Bucky’s cheek—not trusting himself or Bucky if he did otherwise—and sighs almost wistfully. “Maybe someday, Buck.”

"I’ll be waiting," Bucky assures, then realizes he’s still on one knee and scrabbles back onto the couch beside Sam. If he tangles his fingers with Sam’s though… Well, that’s perfectly perfect.


	4. encroach

At first—and for a long time after—there was only Steve. Bucky ate, slept, _breathed_ Steve.

Steve was his only tie to this world. Steve was like sunlight while everyone else was cast in shadow, until, slowly, there came a glow. It was dim at first, easily ignored, but as Bucky began to notice it, it grew brighter and brighter.

He had only understood the sun’s warmth, Steve’s comfort, and yet this new light drew him in. He felt safe even when sunlight was nowhere to be seen.

It was Sam.

And Sam listened to him and protected him and Bucky’s heart didn’t ache—not in the same way. He could match Bucky in snark and kiss him without fear.

The light didn’t burn him like the sun and Bucky, he thought he deserved to burn. Sam didn’t.

It took Bucky a long time to realize that not all light hurt like the sun, that love didn’t have to mean pain.


	5. picnic

Sam is sprawled on the grass gasping for breath, eyes closed. Running used to be more therapeutic before two men in their nineties who must not be named starting joining him.

He hears more than sees someone flopping down beside him. “Hey,” he hears and, with a groan, Sam peeks open an eye.

Bucky is leaning on his metal elbow, smiling as smugly as ever.

Sam rolls his head to the other side, notes the absence there. He throws his arm over his eyes. “Where’s Steve?”

"Takin’ another couple laps," Bucky replies, and Sam can hear his amusement.

"Not gonna join him?"

"Nah. ‘M busy."

"Hmmm," Sam intones. It’s about all he’s got in him to do. That is, until he hears the telltale sound of a ziploc bag opening. Groaning, Sam props himself up. He eyes the sandwich. "Where’d you even _get_ that?”

Bucky drags a backpack out from behind him and it’s only now that Sam remembers making fun of him and Bucky saying something that sounded way too Boy Scout about being prepared.

"Gimme," Sam says and Bucky shakes his head, his little ponytail swaying with the motion. He’s shoving his sandwich into his face with gusto and, with faux upset, Sam flops back down.

There’s a rustle and then Bucky is dropping a sandwich onto his chest.

Sam gasps dramatically, “The tin man had a heart all along.”

His sandwich is squished between them as Bucky pounces him.


	6. pancakes

The first time they fuck, Bucky makes pancakes after. Sam opts for a shower and emerges to the smell of maple syrup and deliciousness, bothering with only a towel before wandering over to the stove.

They haven’t set any boundaries yet, have not defined any part of their relationship. They had fucked. That was about as far as it had gotten since hostility-turned-tolerance-turned-tentative-friendship.

It leaves Sam at an impasse as to how he was supposed to act upon seeing Bucky, spatula in hand, splattered with pancake batter. He’s wearing sweats that hang low on his hips and a loose t-shirt, his hair in that just-been-fucked mess.

Sam fights down the urge to kiss him. For all he knows, Bucky doesn’t want anything to do with him now. “Smells good,” he says, trying for nonchalance.

"Sex pancakes are my specialty," Bucky says seriously and Sam feels confused for a second, but then Bucky is turning and he’s got this relaxed grin Sam can’t help returning. "Gotta have energy for round two," he says, shoving a bite of pancake into his mouth, chewing and smiling like a smug idiot.

Sam licks his lips. “Man, I just got outta the shower.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sounds like you’ve got a decision to make.” He takes another bite, licks at the syrup that starts to dribble down his chin. Sam takes an involuntary step forward.

Bucky’s eyes rove over Sam’s nearly naked body.

It’s all over.


	7. dragon

Sam recognizes the smell the second he enters his house and smiles. He hasn’t smoked in years—not since before the military, certainly—but it brings back fond memories.

He walks over to the couch and watches as Bucky pulls in a hit, lets it out with a quirked eyebrow in Sam’s direction.

Sam laughs and takes the joint from Bucky, their fingers brushing. “Where’d you even _get_ weed?”

"Around," Bucky says, shrugging, but there’s that gleam in his eyes that Sam can read clear as a book.

"Right." Sam examines the joint for a moment—rolling paper, crutch, and perfect construction. It has a strong, deliciously herbal fragrance and he knows it’s good weed. This is something to appreciate after the day he’s had.

Sam inhales only to let it out, to pull it in through his nostrils. He cocks his head at Bucky, appreciating the awed look on the other man’s face as he blows out a smooth stream of smoke. “French inhale,” he says. “Didn’t do that back in the day?”

"How…" Bucky starts, taking the joint from Sam. He stares at it.

Sam maneuvers Bucky’s hand and takes another hit from between Bucky’s fingers. Bucky’s lips part as Sam leans over, passing the smoke to him and planting the briefest of kisses as he does. “I’ll teach you,” Sam murmurs, and looks forward to wasting the rest of his night with Bucky.


	8. cache

Bucky holds more memories than anyone should. There are lifetimes worth hidden away beneath his seemingly young exterior.

Wars fought and won, wars lost. They’re all there.

He remembers everything now.

He remembers fighting Steve, becoming himself again. He remembers meeting Sam and finally _not_ trying to kill him.

Bucky can see clearly in his mind the first time he kissed Sam, how the other man had pulled away in surprise, but had returned it—and Bucky had maybe felt like the present, the future, it had all been waiting for him to catch up.

He remembers fighting with Sam over little things: over the damn bird, over his own recklessness. Sam had worried about him, but Bucky had always survived, somehow.

Bucky thought for sure he’d get himself killed, but here he is. Still. And Sam…isn’t.

(He always thought he’d lose Sam, but not like this. Not after everything.)

Bucky thinks that living forever might’ve been a little easier if he didn’t have to live with a lifetime of happy memories with Sam.

Of the end of that lifetime.


	9. elope

Bucky shivers as Sam slides cool fingertips up the side of his leg. “My husband,” Sam murmurs, mouthing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

"My husband," Bucky replies in turn with a laugh, still shaking. He spreads his legs, biting his lip as he watches Sam slowly work his way upwards.

"What do you want?" Sam asks, and he sounds like he always does in the bedroom. He’s calm and attentive and he listens to his partner’s needs.

"You," Bucky says, pushing his hair back.

"Me?" Sam asks. He raises an eyebrow, the answer not Bucky’s usual.

Bucky nods, swallows. “What do you want?”

Sam grins at him, lifting himself up to place a kiss to the band on Bucky’s finger. “You,” he repeats.

Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

It’s a moment just between them and it’s as precious as it is rare.

Most of their lives are defined by others, revolve around Steve and saving the world, around _helping_ people. It had been impulsive to do this.

They had told everyone they were on the way back from their mission only to be informed of a new threat on the horizon. Sam had kissed him. “Think we’ll ever catch a second alone?” he’d said, smiling softly through his exasperation.

"No," Bucky had replied. He licked his lips, eyes bright as they met Sam’s. "Let’s take one." He had laughed then. "Hell, let’s get married."

Sam’s gaze was steady and the laughter died in Bucky’s throat at the next word, spoken ever so softly: “Okay.”


	10. carnival

"That one," Bucky says, pointing, and a moment later he’s handing over his prize.

"I don’t know what you expect me to do with this," Sam says, tucking the stuffed animal under his arm.

Bucky shrugs, bites his lip. Back in the day, girls would swoon over this type of thing. His intentions would be obvious. He knows Sam isn’t a girl and now isn’t then, but he had hoped the gesture would still be appreciated. Somehow. So, he responds the only way he knows how to defend his own honor. "Sleep with it every night," he tells Sam seriously. "Think of me and imagine our first kiss and how _swell_ it’ll be." He grins.

It’s a ridiculous notion, and an oversimplification at that, but Sam stares at the bear hard.

"Got it," he says, nodding to the thing.

They walk around and it’s a bit awkward, but not too bad. They end up having a lot of fun, actually. When Sam laughs, Bucky feels more at ease. Really, Bucky is surprised that Sam had said yes so quickly when he had suggested coming here.

Bucky isn’t thinking when he drags Sam into the house of mirrors, fueled by happy memories, but the panic sets in the second he’s surrounded by images of himself in every direction. He can’t breathe, he can’t—

"Hey," Sam says, placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. "Look at me." He trains his eyes on Bucky’s as they still waver to the mirrors behind him. "Just me."

It takes Bucky a moment to follow the instruction and he stares at Sam, his eyes wide and his hands clenching at his sides.

Sam watches him, gauging his reaction. "Alright," he says, lopsided smile pulling at his lips. He checks his watch and scoops up the stuffed bear he had dropped in his haste to calm Bucky a moment earlier. It’s almost time. Come on."

Bucky frowns, his focus on Sam now as he tries to figure out what the hell Sam is talking about. He follows Sam out of the hall.

Sam looks up at the sky, the bear dangling at his side.

"What—"

"Shhh." Sam is suppressing a grin and Bucky’s curiosity is killing him, his heart beating faster in anticipation.

Bucky opens his mouth and closes it again. The sun is slowly sinking towards the skyline and he knows they must be waiting for the sunset, but why?

Sam hums, as if he’s having just as much trouble waiting if not more.

Minutes pass and Bucky stares more at Sam than the sky.

"Okay," Sam says finally, turning to look at Bucky. He picks up the bear and furrows his brows at it. "Okay?" he asks the thing, nodding a second later as if it has confirmed his thoughts.

Before Bucky can ask what’s happening, Sam puts his free hand on the nape of Bucky’s neck, his thumb resting just behind Bucky’s ear.

Sam presses his lips to Bucky’s and it’s so soft and yet so sure. It lasts only a second, but when he pulls away, Bucky is leaning into it.

"Better than I imagined," Sam tells him, his grin wry and his pleasure obvious.

Bucky laughs, then schools his features into a frown and snatches the bear from Sam. "You," he says sternly to the stuffed animal, "you _knew_?" 

"Oh, I’m gonna tell ‘im all sorts of things." Sam takes the bear back and shoves it under his arm again.

Sam and Bucky leave the carnival holding hands, flesh and metal intertwined.


	11. angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Kind of more of [this _Supernatural_ AU](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/post/93199003514/sam-bucky-week-2014-day-v-au).

Bucky can’t call for his angel, so Steve does.

"Camael, is there anything you can do?" Steve asks, his side leaned against the car.

Bucky is back in the hotel room and Steve doesn’t know if he’ll wake up. He’s been through hell, literally and figuratively. It’s hard to get back up when you’ve fallen so far down, but Bucky did. This can’t be what breaks him when nothing else has.

The angel looks concerned as he stares in Bucky’s direction, as if he can see past the wall—perhaps he can, Steve thinks idly. "I’m tapped out," Sam says, and shakes his head.

Steve’s mouth firms into a line. He understands, but it’s still terrible. He sees the way Camael starts to crumble around the edges. "Hey," Steve tells him, and it’s weird that he needs to comfort an angel of the lord, but Sam is also his friend. "You did everything you could for us—for Bucky. He’ll pull out of this."

Sam doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks angry. He points to the room. "That’s my fault," Sam says. "I never should’ve—" He breathes in and out slowly, what must be a leftover trait of his vessel. "Sorry. But it’s Bucky. I…" He trails off. "I’ve overstepped my bounds." His voice is strangled and Steve knows he isn’t talking about his role in the apocalypse.

Camael is talking about _Bucky_.

"I just wanted to help ‘im," the angel says.

Steve sucks in his bottom lip. He’s never seen Sam so upset. There’s something he’s known for a long time, but he’s never said it. No one has. Maybe it needs to be said. Now. With Bucky in need of Camael’s help more than ever. "You love him." He isn’t trying to manipulate the angel, but rather to calm him. He watches Sam’s expression shifting and adds, "He knows."

"I’m gonna find a way to fix him," Camael says with such conviction Steve is reminded that he is in the presence of an angel—dangerous and powerful and ancient.

The fluttering of his great red wings is like a clap of thunder and birds scatter in his wake.


	12. masochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the prompt word!

"It’s…therapeutic," Bucky says, and Sam just shakes his head.

Sam’s eyes search out Bucky’s. "Uh-huh," he agrees. "It’s got nothin’ to do with you thinkin’ you deserve that pain, right?"

Bucky’s eyes flicker away from Sam’s, but then he smirks, licks his lips. "So what?"

"What if I don’t want to hurt you?" Sam asks, cupping Bucky’s cheek in his hand. The touch is soft and Bucky can’t bear it right now, going stiff and tense before he flinches away.

"Then I’ll make you," Bucky says, swallowing.

"You can’t make me hurt you, Buck…" Sam starts. He doesn’t try to touch him again, but he looks pained and like he wants to.

Bucky shakes his head. "No," he whispers. "I’ll make you _want_ to hurt me." Sam’s jaw twitches and Bucky starts in on him. "All those people I killed, Sam? I can’t even count how many, but I felt good doing it, you know that?"

"Shut up," Sam manages, hands curling into fists. "Don’t lie to me."

"I felt useful." Bucky grins and it’s just this side of dangerous. "It’s nice to feel useful."

"Shut up," Sam says again. "I _know_ you.”

Bucky steps forward until Sam has to back himself against the wall. "I would’ve killed you. You and Steve and Natasha. Anyone."

"Anyone you were _ordered_ to," Sam corrects, carefully avoiding eye contact, and the metal of Bucky’s arm whirs as it shifts. Sam tries to sidestep around him and Bucky trips him, follows him to the floor.

Bucky straddles Sam. "I felt powerful," he says. "I didn’t give a second thought to those people. To you. To Steve."

Sam doesn’t fight him, doesn’t move even as Bucky puts his metal hand down an inch from Sam’s head. "Yeah," Sam murmurs, then swallows and speaks more clearly. "Yeah, you did. You cared, under all that brainwashing. You cared a lot."

Bucky is furious, body quaking. "I killed all those people."

"The Winter Soldier killed all those people," Sam says. "You’re Bucky."

"It was still me," Bucky argues. "Damn it, Sam. Hurt me."

"No," Sam tells him.

"Please, hurt me. Hurt me." Bucky’s spine arches, his body caving in on itself as his eyes close, tears falling. "Hurt me."

Tentatively, Sam reaches up, smoothing his hands down Bucky’s back. “It wasn’t you.”

"Fucking _hurt_ me,” Bucky sobs. "I need you to." He curls into Sam’s chest in defeat, tremors wracking through his body as Sam continues to rub his back, to hold him without trapping him.

"I am," Sam says, in answer to Bucky’s plea.

They stay on the floor like that, not talking.

They fall asleep there.


End file.
